Wednesday, August 21, 2019

“Even the wilderness and desert will be glad in those days. The wasteland will rejoice and blossom with spring crocuses.” (Isaiah 35:1, New Living Translation)

                We have a Dwarf Korean Lilac bush in our front flower bed. In mid to late June it bursts into its glory both visually and aromatically. The large bush is covered in blossoms and the flowers’ scent greets you as you come up the front walk.  Every year we await this brief but spectacular event.

                This week, I have noticed a truly late bloomer on the bush – a tiny, little blossom boldly defying the time of year we’re in. It’s not very big although a honey bee did find it, so it is, at least, lending a tiny portion of itself to some sweet honey hive somewhere. It really isn’t supposed to be there, this little micro-reminder of new life and potential fruitfulness.

                Perhaps, some of you may be familiar with Picasso’s masterpiece Guernica.  It is a massive portrayal of the apocalyptic horrors of war and the chaos and destruction which war brings.  It portrays the suffering of people and animals. It is impressionistic, dark and sombre, capturing the violence and depravity of war. It is a hard picture to take in fully because every inch (and it is a very large canvas) is full of symbolism and imagery.

                Yet, in the corner, being grasped by a dying soldier, is a small blossom - a white poppy, a traditional symbol of peace. Despite the waste, the horror, the dismay, the bedlam, the devastation which most of the painting reveals, here grows this flower. It shouldn’t be there. It should have been trampled, pulled out by its roots, crushed by the bloody catastrophe which was taking place around it.  You almost don’t see it. It seems out of place. Out of time. Goes against the grain. Is it blooming in a futile defiance?

                When we are in the middle of a crisis which disturbs and disrupts our lives with chaos, pain, suffering and  our sprits  are being overwhelmed with the anarchy of  whatever is tearing us apart it may be very hard to find hope, even so much as a small seed, never mind a full blossom. When all seems lost or irreparable or devastating it may seem that nothing will ever be right again. There are few if any words of comfort, counsel, solace or consolation that can fill the emotional cracks which are undermining one’s total being. Well-being seems a memory; something never to be experienced again.

                But there is always hope. “But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” (Romans 8:25)  This hope is not some simplistic, easy, magical answer to our wars of life.  It requires a great of trust and faith, finding just enough strength to lean into the fierce winds and storms, assured that God has not abandoned us. We don’t often know why this terrible thing has happened or why us, but it has and now we reach for those resources which will help us endure and cope.

                Hope is that obstinate blossom which grows against the tableau of chaos and suffering. Like our text above, when we are in the wilderness and those desert places there will come a time when the power of God’s re-creativity takes the world back again and make things right. That hope probably won’t wipe away every tear right now or immediately but it is also the right-now blossom which defies and resists the times we are in.

                “We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows what to do; we’ve been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn’t left our side; we’ve been thrown down, but we haven’t broken.” (2 Corinthians 4: 8-9, The Message Bible)

Dale